Locked
by Youwillneverknowmeever
Summary: Mal had heard the words 'Paranoid Schizophrenia' only once in his life. He hadn't a clue about what it was, what it meant or what it entailed. But what he knew for certain was that his partner, best friend and love of his life was the 1 in 100 that had it
1. Chapter 1

**So, I had the idea for this story when I was sleeping last night. Yeah, I know, weird. But anyways, as soon as I woke up, I wrote this chapter in about 5 minutes and delayed posting it till now. It's a... strange topic but I hope you guys like it!  
><strong>**This is supposed to be a multi chapter story but if I don't get more than 5 reviews on the first chapter, I'm not going through with it. So you guys better review, otherwise I'll set the bogeyman on you! Jokes, but seriously, please do. It makes my whole day.  
><strong> **On with the story!**

Mal had heard the words 'Paranoid Schizophrenia' only once in his life. He hadn't a clue about what it was, what it meant and what it entailed. They had told him that it was the most common form of schizophrenia, that the symptoms were hard to notice, that the illness could be diagnosed, and that 1 in a 100 people get it.  
>What he did know for certain, however, was that his partner, best friend, and love of his life was that single person in 100 that had it.<p>

It had all started that late night three weeks ago. They had just finished wrapping up the loose ends of the Callum Murdoch case, and had been exiting the SFPD Precinct, joking and laughing merrily with each other while drinking cappuccinos out of paper cups. Natara had stopped dead in her tracks and shiftily eyed the empty parking lot and muttered darkly, "Good. Can't see anything here."  
>"What do you mean by that?" Mal had asked, slightly perturbed.<br>"You know, anybody could come out and attack us. They could just attack us and cart us off to the government, where they could do horrible things to us Mal. Horrible things." He had thought it was some sick attempt at sarcasm at first. But after nearly three weeks of hearing her argue hotly with herself, hearing her complain about her gruesome hallucinations and watching, helplessly, her paranoia grow darker and deeper within herself, Mal had dragged her kicking and screaming to the Mental Institute, fearing the worst.  
>And his worst fears had materialized.<p>

Numbly, he sat by Natara's side and clutched her hand tightly as doctors and nurses bustled around busily, carrying clipboards full of spidery writing, their faces stony and set into hard frowns.  
>"Mal?" Natara whispered sorrowfully, "What's happening to me? Why are there so many doctors? I don't like them. They look shifty to me. Are they going to inject me with anaesthesia and send me off to the CIA so they can do some testing on me?" She bowed her head and took a deep, shaky breath and continued, her voice cracking, "Mal, don't let them put a chip in me. Please Mal, please, don't let them…" Holding back a choked sob, he replied as evenly as possible, "I won't, Natara. I'll make sure nothing will ever happen to you."<br>"Ah hmm." A nearby doctor cleared his throat and motioned to his clipboard. "May I…?" Mal nodded in mutual agreement, still too wracked by the news to trust his voice.  
>"Well, as we told you before, we believe Miss Natara Williams has a severely acute form of paranoid schizophrenia. This illness affects-"<br>"Sorry, doctor," Mal interjected, his voice low and hoarse, "But you already told me this. Can we just skip to the important information?" The doctor huffed loudly, and muttered, "Yes. Of course." He flipped a few pieces of paper on his clipboard forward roughly, and steamrollered on, "We think that Miss Williams will require at least seven years of treatment in this centre, and we have prescribed her…" Mal tried to focus on the sound of his voice, but found himself tuning out as the doctor droned on and on. He whipped his head around to face Natara, and heard her murmuring agitatedly under her breath, "Oh no, he's talking, he's talking, that's not good, what is he talking about? Oh no, he's sending me off to Africa for slave trade, oh no, no, no…" Tears stung his eyes and he forced his head downwards, willing them not to trickle down his face.  
>This Natara… It wasn't the one he knew and loved.<br>And the old Natara was never going to come back.

**Want me to keep on going? Then REVIEW please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys!  
>Sorry for the long wait for chapter 2, I went on holiday for a week and a half and there wasn't any internet, so... Yeah.<br>This chapter wasn't supposed to turn out this way. I'm not sure whether I like it or not... But maybe you could review and tell me that it's great and I'm an idiot? :D  
>And thank you so so so so so much for all the reviews! I just about cried when I saw them all.<br>Anyways, on with the story!  
><strong>

"The voices… They plague me, have consumed me. They tell me what I should do and what I shouldn't. They tell me about all the dangers of the wide world outside. They tell me about what other people are… what they could do to me. They opened my eyes. I am the voices, and the voices are me."

Natara numbly stared down at the open book, eyeing her cursive handwriting with a cautious air. She couldn't believe that it was her, a cold blooded F.B.I profiler, that had written those thoughts down. Those words… They had been nestling comfortably deep inside of her, where no one could reach them, where it was all darkness and pessimism. And the fact that everything could be unleashed in a torrent just by picking up a pen scared her to no end. Of course, that was only because it would make everything that had happened seem real. For the past week, she could shut her eyes tightly and let the whole world wash over her sluggishly, as if she was in a catatonic trance. But now? Not anymore. She couldn't hide from reality any longer.

Hearing the faint clicking of heels, Natara tilted her head upwards and gazed at the stark white door as it swung open, spying a portly woman cloaked in yellow strolling in.  
>"Hello, Natara!" The woman trilled, bustling briskly towards her. Natara smiled widely for the first time in five days and nodded her head enthusiastically at her in form of greeting.<p>

Natara met Margaret Laings on her second day at the treatment centre. Natara had been curled up on the imposing bed, trying to fall asleep on the concrete pillows. The door had burst open and Margaret had casually sloped in, raising one hand in a greeting. "Hey there," she had smiled, Natara remembered clearly. Margaret had then sank herself into the tatted beanbag opposite the bed, and grimaced, screwing her homely face into a scowl. "Makes me kind of miss the SFPD wooden chairs, believe it or not," she had remarked, winking slyly at her. "You… You were with the SFPD?" Natara had gasped, her face rearranged into a look of surprise.  
>"With the SFPD? Hell, I was the Captain!"<p>

They had stayed up all night, that day, swapping stories of their days in law enforcement, energetically acting out the way they had taken down suspects and reliving the thrills that came with it. She was the only person who treated her as if she was a regular human being. With her, she could convince herself that she was all right.

She could almost convince herself that she was normal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, an update! WOOOOOOH! Sorry it took so long, I just had MAJOR writer's block. But this chapter is kinda in Mal's p.o.v, because I really wanted to do it from his side as I feel it's a lot more relatable and real, so...** **Yeah.**

**But I Have Promises To Keep: Thank you so much! Coming from you, that means a lot. And yes, I used Wikipedia. :D**

**mozzi-girl: Yeah, I know right? I'm the one who's writing it, and yet to me it feels wrong that she has a mental illness. Yeah, Mal will probably know Margaret, but I haven't completely decided yet... :) And thanks for reviewing!  
><strong>

**SVU Productions: ****Thanks for the review. I will keep going, but it's gonna be a lot less frequent (and that's saying something) because I'm busy with nation-wide examinations. And I agree, Natara doesn't really deserve the sadness and pain I love to inflict on her. :D**

**Anyway, I'm slightly disappointed because I only got 3 more reviews (thanks to the peeps mentioned above!), in contrast to the 7 I received on the first chapter! So let's make a game. If I get at least 6 reviews on this chapter, I will... Uh... Not. Do. ANYTHING. Well, that didn't work. Wait, if I get at least 6 reviews in 4 days, I will update the next chapter within 1 and a half weeks (did that make sense?). O.K, kids? O.K!** **Now, on with the story**!

Mal sluggishly tipped the pus-brown liquid in his glass down his throat, relishing the cool sensation of it oozing downwards. He directed his eyes towards his phone, laying innocently on the table beside him and glared at it, wracking his brains for a suitable voice message.

"Hey Nat, it's me. Wait, no no no, she might not know who 'me' is. O.K, how about, hey Nat, it's me, Mal. Hmmm, going good… How are you? Ugh, great question Mal. _Definitely_ not using that one. Um… Haven't seen you in a while, I've been busy with work. O.K, keep on going… Anyway, Dr. Smith says that you're doing great, which is, uh, great? No… which sounds like the over-achieving, always-has-to-be-better-than-the-best best friend that I know and love. So, I'm just calling to tell you that I'll… come and see you someday? Nah, too vague. Or how about, I'll come visit you soon. So, uh… Stay strong, Nat."

He exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples tiredly, still staring at the phone. All of a sudden, he felt a sudden burst of anger rush through him, and he roughly scooped up the android and swiftly chucked it at the wall. Pieces of plastic showered down the cream wall like winter rain, and Mal gazed at it, his mind in another world.

Mal didn't really get it sometimes. Of course, he knew what the doctors and psychiatrists had told him, but he hadn't wanted to know that 1 in 100 people get paranoid schizophrenia in U.S.A, that Natara's case was unusual as most people usually develop it in late adolescence or early adulthood, or that only 11-15% died by committing suicide due to the illness. Even though he knew the facts, he still knew nothing. He didn't know why Natara had been the one person in a hundred to develop it, he didn't know _how_ she was going to get better, and he didn't know _if _she was going to get better. This whole thing… was full of uncertainty. And before it, the thing he loved most about his life was the predictability.

He still felt numb, even after a whole week. He knew that he should feel more than that; anger, depression, confusion, fear… But try as he might, all he was, was numb. No matter what he did, he just couldn't get her out of his head. He worried about what they were doing to her. Maybe they had her locked up in some sort of dungeon and tortured the schizophrenia out of her. Or maybe they were drugging her out of her mind so much so that she couldn't think, period. Either way, Natara wasn't in his hands anymore. She was in the care of another.

He just had to hope that their caring was enough.

**Please please please please review with a cherry on top!**


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